


regalia

by saernamaz



Series: Lamen Week 2020 [3]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Lamen Week 2020, Light Angst, M/M, im a sucker for angsty damen ugh, let my babe grieve and come to terms with his condition too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24876964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saernamaz/pseuds/saernamaz
Summary: On the day of his coronation, Damianos wonders if he is enough, if he can emulate his passionate, just father or even his fierce, cunning brother. The regalia draped around him feels like a disguise of a man he is not, a King and a ruler. What is he?Grounding, soft, loving Laurent helps him figure it out, slowly.(Lamen Week, Day 3: Disguise)
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Series: Lamen Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798330
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44
Collections: Lamen Week 2020





	regalia

**Author's Note:**

> damen being honest with his feelings and let his confident exterior slowly crumble away ? my tea
> 
> he honestly had to process so much of his flaws in such a short span of time (capri trilogy canon), he probably has come to question who he is 😔

The servant finished pinning his red chiton in place, draping the last piece of cotton firmly against his shoulder. He could see himself in the reflection of the mirror, tall and broad, in his regalia, a heavy and intricate twist of red fabric embroiled with gold and magnificent patterns. A delicate golden laurel crown sat on his head, the real symbol of his kingliness. As he met his own dark eyes, twinkling with something akin to anxiety perhaps, he could not help but think that his father must have worn this too, and Kastor too. He did not much look like them, neither physically nor mentally, taking everything after his mother — his dimples, dark curls and plump, joyous lips —, but at this instant, he could not help but see themselves in the mirror.

It felt difficult to breath, and he absentmindedly wondered if it was because of the weight of the dress and his own fatigue, or something else. As much as he liked to deny it and discard it, it hurt to lose them both in such sort notice of time. Even after everything, he still felt for Kastor, still saw him as his brother, and he had almost wanted to go against everyone, from his kyroi to his lover, and let Kastor rest in the royal tomb and not in some mass graves meant for traitors and murderers. Kastor was not a traitor, he thought vaguely, he merely acted on impulse. But deep down, a voice told him that he was just making excuses instead of facing the facts, as he always had done before his enslavement.

He took a deep breath, as inconspicuously as he could as to not alert the servants around him, and closed his eyes, begging his thoughts to go away. His coronation was not the time for idle thoughts. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw his father, proud and massive on his throne, the picture of a King, ripped with muscles, charisma and raw power. He had been a conqueror, an undefeated warrior, but also a kind father and diligent ruler. Damen had spent hours in his childhood trying to emulate his stance and his intonation, making a court out of his toys and playing King. He remembered his father, strict and stern as he ordered a rapist to a public execution, his half-hidden smile as children offered him flowers as he came back from the front, his intelligent remarks during council…

“Damianos?” a voice interrupted him. He opened his eyes, and caught his own reflection in the mirror, paler and alone in the empty room. The servants had gone away, seemingly finished with their task. Laurent was standing at the threshold of the room, his face closed, but his tone had been shaking, as if he was concerned. “Are you alright?”

That simple question was enough to make him take a shuddered breath and fight back wetness threatening to spill on his cheeks. Laurent’s heels clicked gently on the marble floor as he approached, carefully, and placed a slender hand on his shoulder.

“Damianos, talk to me,” he pleaded softly. Damen stayed silent for a while, watching his lover in the mirror press a sooting kiss to his shoulder.

“I can’t do it Laurent,” he finally confessed. “I’m not—” _My father, who had ruled Akielos with passion and justice for years, nor my brother, cunning, strong and loyal to the people, whom he understood better than anyone, despite his treason_ , he wanted to say. The words died on his lips. “I feel as though I am wearing a disguise.”

Laurent looked at him with soft blue eyes, an ocean of tenderness which eased Damen’s heart a little. “You were always meant to be King, Damen. This regalia is entitled to you.”

“But will I be enough? You know how I am.” Stubborn, obvious to machinations, trusting to a fault, blind to the distress of people around him, manichean.

Laurent’s other hand came to cup his cheek. His gaze was forced into Laurent’s warm one. “I do. A brillant tactician, a passionate young man, dedicated to others and to his ideals, reasonable and sensible, open to change… That is the Damen that stands before me today, that had perhaps always been there, under a life of privileges and safety. Those are the qualities of a great King, Kings of legends and myths. Damianos…”

“I just,” he interrupted him, a smile dangling on his lips. “I don’t know what I am anymore. Am I Crown Prince Damianos again? Damen, the bound and dangerous slave? Damen the commander of enemy troops? What they want King Damianos to be?”

“You are all of them at once, and that makes you who you are, the man I fell for and whom I trust with my whole life. Your country and people will adore you, their legitimate heir, who has liberated them from civil war and brought prosperity and modernity to them.”

Damen closed his eyes and leaned into the touch on his cheek. He inhaled softly, easing his sparrow-like beating heart, concentrating on Laurent’s words and presence. He was the passion and indulgence of the crown prince, the kindness and justice of the slave, the brillance and tempered belligerence of the general of the Veretian troops, the understanding and selflessness of the lover, and the dignity and charisma of the king. They all had been disguises, matters of circumstances, but Laurent had seen past them, had peeled the layers of lies and masquerade until he had reached the core of who Damianos was, without prejudices and privileges. He had faced his sins and crimes at face value, _Prince-killer_ , _liar_ , _slave owner_ , _naive_ … He had come to acknowledge them, make them his, atone for them. He had apprehended his qualities for what they were, gifts and values that not everyone shared, but who can be taught again, as he did with Laurent.

His whole life had culminated to this moment, his coronation, where he could teach his people everything he himself had learn, to forgive, to repent, to love and cherish, to come together as one, to be honest and true. His regalia was not so much a disguise than his real clothes, what he was, what he was meant to be.

He smiled, pressing the corner of his mouth to Laurent’s palm, soft and angelic on him, a messenger of the gods come to expiate his sins and guide him. He kissed it, taking the hand in his and bringing it down so he could bend forward and press his lips to Laurent’s.

“Thank you, Laurent. You do not know how much it meant to me to hear that I was enough.”

His lover gave him a soft, secret smile, one he had been the sole receiver of, full of love and something else, something tender and meant only for Damianos. “Then let us go, Exalted. Your country is waiting for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> and he became the best king akielos ever had, fair and handsome, making maiden and men swoon from east to west, north to south, but whose eyes are solely focused on his babyyy whom he spoils and coddle


End file.
